Hello Again
by pretense
Summary: Nobody wants a sob-story; especially not gods that look like cowboys.  Klaus/Ben  Post-Dallas.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **The Umbrella Academy and all its characters used in this fanfiction are copyright of Gerard Way, Dark Horse Comics, etc. I am not making any profit out of this.

**Summary: **Nobody wants a sob-story; especially not gods that look like cowboys.

**Pairing: **Klaus/Ben

**A/N: **Klaus/Ben needs more love. Please enjoy~

**XxXxXxXxX**

**Chapter One : So did I fuck you?**

**XxXxXxXxX**

_Let it in… Let it go…_

_When they lift you up, there's something you should know_

_What you find, it might astound you_

_'Cause the world, my friend, is big enough_

_Without you…_

"Klaus!"

The auburn-haired medium barely had time to recognize the voice when a pair of arms threw themselves around him and he was pulled close to a chest that smelled of peppermints.

The man (it was safe to assume since he wasn't smothered with breasts) kept on murmuring his name like a mantra, hands planted firmly on his shoulders. It didn't take long for his beer-addled mind to register that he was being hugged by a total stranger.

"Do I _know _you?" Klaus ventured, almost getting a mouthful of the man's shirt.

At that, his assaulter hastily let go and the medium was able to get a good look at the guy. Under the dim lighting of the bar, he could see that the man was on the thin side with milky white skin, oriental black eyes were staring back at him as he noticed the short and unruly jet black hair. The man wore a white shirt with a green necktie printed with ivy leaves as charcoal slacks covered his lower appendages. He looked no older than twenty.

"S-Sorry…" the Asian-looking man stammered, a tinge of pink lighting his cheeks.

"Did I sleep with you?" Klaus asked bluntly as his memory failed to put a name to the face in front of him.

"N-No!" was the flustered reply and the psychic grinned to himself in amusement.

"Then why're you acting so chummy?" muddy brown eyes were kept on the blushing man as The Séance took a swig of whiskey.

"I, uh…" jet black eyes stared at the floor while the man chewed on his lower lip. "I'm a fan…"

"Really?" Klaus raised a brow.

"Y-Yes!" the Asian man put up a smile but a nervous look was still present in his eyes. "A-And I've always dreamed of meeting you in person…"

"Uh-huh…" Klaus frowned a little as he emptied the whiskey bottle into his drinking glass. The kid's reply didn't explain why he had been addressed by his first name.

"C-Can I ask you a question…?" the foreign man asked tentatively, a worried look taking over his features.

"Only if you drink with me," Klaus replied with a lopsided smile. "Sit down, kid." He turned to the bartender for a moment and asked for another glass and a new bottle of whiskey. "So," the spirit medium continued, twisting off the bottle cap and pouring a hefty amount into the two empty glasses in front of him. "What'cha wanna know?"

The bar stool screeched as the pale Asian took his seat, a full glass of alcohol already waiting for him. "What happened to you…?" he asked, eyes glued to the once-flawless face.

The sweating glass stopped midway to the Séance's lips, the amber liquid sloshing around. Klaus' expression held a sliver of suspicion as he put down his drink.

"K-Klaus?"

"Really, kid, who are you?" the medium asked, staring back.

"I'm just a fan, honest!" the younger man's reply had been a little too quick and defensive. "I'm just – well, concerned… You look pretty beaten up, you look so different from the last time I saw you…"

"_Last time_?" Klaus rested his hollow cheek on an open palm, leaning against the bar counter.

"I mean, yesterday… when you, um, left Vanities…" the dark-haired man licked his lips, slim fingers absently tapping the glass in his hands.

"_Vanities_? Ha, that was a pretty long time ago, kid… You probably wouldn't believe me if I told you…"

"Oh but I would!" jet-black eyes shone in earnest as the man finally let go of his glass. "I promise I'll listen…"

The Asian's remark made Klaus grin in spite of himself. "You're a weird kid."

Thin lips pursed tightly as the man stared down again, "S-Sorry…"

"And I thought I told you to drink with me?" Klaus interjected, earning him a surprised look.

"Um, I'm sorry…?"

"No drink, no story," the psychic smirked, downing his own glass for emphasis. Honestly, he was getting tired of the guy's woe-be-me expressions.

"Oh, r-right…" and the guy made a grab for his glass, taking a drink, eyes peering over the rim at the spirit medium.

"So what's your name, kid?" Klaus asked, noting how the glass was already half-empty when the pale man put it down. The way his companion froze didn't escape him, the guy looked exceptionally scared for a second before a reply came in his default nervous tone.

"Name… um, well… you could just call me Ken…" the hands on the glass fidgeted lightly.

"Ken?"

"Y-Yeah…"

"Well then why don't I start my story from yesterday…"

* * *

_I've waited for this moment for years… To see him again, to hear his voice… to hold him in my arms one more time. He looks so different now – and that's coming from a guy who's been watching out for him since my eyes could see._

_His nose looks like it's been broken and his face bears traces of old bruises and there's this scar on his forehead that scares the living crap out of me… it's like he's been shot. He looks so weary now, so tired… He's gone to - well, let me just call it an 'institution' in the past and that was to cure his depression. I know, I've been there and I've dearly wished that it would have worked…_

_His clothes look so different from what I remember and he's also grown out his hair… Everything about this man in front of me right now screams that I've missed so much… I would've loved to say that he'd grown wiser, too, but the fact that I'm getting drunk with him in an isolated bar in the middle of the afternoon begs to differ…_

_Oh where are my manners? I've been blabbing so much yet I haven't even introduced myself…_

_I'm Cham Ken, 22 years old. I'm Vietnamese by birth but I've migrated here where I work as a journalist for The City Paper…_

_I'm Cham Soccho's grandson._

_Klaus Hargreeves' son._

_Ben Hargreeves' reincarnation._


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: **The Umbrella Academy and all its characters used in this fanfiction are copyright of Gerard Way, Dark Horse Comics, etc. I am not making any profit out of this.

**A/N:** Umbrella Academy's definition of 'Heaven' is unlike any other… Also, thank you so much for the positive feedback on the pilot chapter! :D

**XxXxXxXxX**

**Chapter Two : No one gets hurt in heaven**

**XxXxXxXxX**

Eyes wide, pupils dilated, Ben Hargreeves sat up in bed, one hand clutching his chest. The heartbeats were non-existent but there was an odd sensation creeping out from that spot. He looked down at himself – a beige shirt and black slacks clothed him, the only things to distinguish his naturally pale body from the white-washed surroundings. He stood up and walked over to the window, whitewood floorboards creaking under his feet. It was pretty useless trying to tell the time in this place - with everything coated in white and all, seeing people walking around was the closest thing to distinguish night from day. And right now the streets were empty.

Ben was just about to shrug off the dreadful feeling when he noticed a figure heading down the street – a white horse with an equally colorless rider. God. The old man was riding out of town and if there was something that Ben had learned through his years of staying here, it's that God's only business out of town was to collect the newly deceased who'd wound up in the desert. In other words, some one was dead.

The silver-haired man winced as his chest constricted once again, and in the split second that Ben closed his eyes he heard a bullet shot and saw the bloody face with the muddy brown eyes that haunted his sleep.

_Klaus…_

The baby blue eyes shot open. There was no logic behind his conclusion but there wasn't any other explanation in his mind telling him _why_ he felt extremely restless when its been so long since he'd felt any emotion at all. He didn't want to think that Klaus was dead… he didn't want to think that _any_ of his siblings would be dead… but if it was Klaus…

The floorboards creaked as the pale figure turned and walked around. Ben straightened his shirt, smoothing out the creases before putting on a black coat. He stepped out of the lodge quietly, sitting down on the porch with his elbows on his knees, clammy hands wrung together tightly. The whole town was quiet and his only companions were the crickets chirping in the distance.

It wasn't long before he made out clouds of dust gathering at the end of the road. He jumped from his seat and stood in the middle of the empty street, eyes straining to see who the cowboy had brought back. Through the dust, he could only see one horse with one rider – God had no companion. Ben couldn't quite decide if he was glad or disappointed. He stood rooted in his spot until the cowboy stopped in front of him.

"Any particular reason yer waitin' to get run over there, son?" beady black eyes gazed questioningly at the man on the ground.

"I… I just had this bad feeling, sir," Ben explained, the worry still not leaving his face. "And then I saw you head out of town – like you were going to fetch a new soul and I… well, I… _worried_ that maybe it was… um, someone I know…"

"You had a bad _feeling_ you say?" the cowboy tipped up his Stetson, peering at The Horror with curiosity.

"I had this dream – flashes, more like, there was this man and he had a bloody face and I – I think he's been shot…" Baby blue eyes shifted around as the man told his story, sweaty hands gripping the hem of his coat. "And I – well, my gut feeling told me that it may be my, um, brother – Klaus. It - It's not that I want him to die, sir!" his voice took an alarmed tone as he stared up at the divine being. "But, uh, I just can't explain it…"

By the end of his statement, the man once known as 00.06 was looking glum and the cowboy was looking thoughtful, one hand scratching at his chin. Finally, God spoke.

"You know, kiddo, I don't think you've been completely honest with me all this time…"

"Wh-What do you mean? I've never lied to you, or to anyone else!"

"Oh yeah?" the cowboy leaned down, resting his forearm on his thigh for support. "Then what if I told you that it _was_ Klaus who I met back there?" He nodded in the direction of the desert outside the town perimeter.

"K-Klaus?" Ben's face lost what little color it had, eyes now trained on the wide desert across the horizon with fear-stricken eyes. "W-Why didn't you bring him back with you? Don't tell me-" He looked back at God. "He couldn't have gone to hell… He's a really good guy, sir! He… He's saved the world countless times – I've been there, I can testify… Sir, please don't let him go to hell. I'll–"

A finger was raised in front of his face and Ben bit his tongue. Oh no… God didn't look too pleased… but it was _Klaus_ they were talking about. He couldn't just stand still knowing that his brother was going to hell. The Horror squeezed his eyes shut, lips in a grimace.

"You told me ya ain't got any regrets in the world, boy," God accused, giving the man a poke on the forehead. "So what's this now I'm hearin' about Klaus?"

"…I don't understand, sir…" Ben asked anxiously, meeting the cowboy's eyes.

"I've been runnin' this place all my life, buckaroo, and lemme tell you somethin'," the cowboy-god sat up straight, fixing Ben a stern gaze. "Nobody – and I mean, _nobody_ – ever feels hurt up here. Fact that you're _worrying_? Boy that only means one thing…"

Baby blue eyes widened dramatically.

"Yer not done with business yet," the cowboy concluded. "I'm sendin' you back."

"M-Me? Back to _earth_?" Ben stammered. "But what about _Klaus_?"

"Son, you've got a bigger problem than I thought," God clicked his tongue twice, steering his horse away. "So I'll tell ya this: Stop worryin'. Your man's back on the planet and as a bonus, I'm givin' ya another chance to work things out…"

"My wha-?"

"Your brother, kid, what else d'ya think I meant?"

It was just then that Ben understood why their father never taught them any religion. This God was really confusing.

"But I just can't drop you into a body down there," the cowboy continued. "You'll have to start from scratch… Lucky for you, I've got the perfect opportunity right here…"

"I-I still don't understand, sir!" Ben exclaimed, his chest pounding as he fast-walked to keep in pace with the trotting stallion. "What am I supposed to do?"

The cowboy pulled at the reins, his horse immediately stopping upon command. "Let me put it this way, Ben: your brother's close to losin' it. Get him back on his feet… for both of your sakes."

"Is-Is Klaus really…?" Ben shuffled his feet, finally noticing the sheet of dust that had settled on his leather shoes.

"Oh _come **on **_boy! Stop lookin' so down…" God said with a confident grin, beady eyes meeting dejected baby blues. "There's still hope, kiddo…" he smiled warmly, "And he's standing right in front of me."


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: **The Umbrella Academy and all its characters used in this fanfiction are copyright of Gerard Way, Dark Horse Comics, etc. I am not making any profit out of this.

**Summary: **Nobody wants a sob-story; especially not gods that look like cowboys.

**Pairing: **Klaus/Ben

**A/N: **A lot of scene changes in this one… just think of it as vignettes… :) and we're still in the past but we're getting to the present in the next chapter… :)

**XxXxXxXxX**

**Chapter Three : A Horror no more**

**XxXxXxXxX**

"Bye Duc, bye Minh!"

"Bye Ken!"

"See ya tomorrow!"

Cham Ken beamed as he waved goodbye to his schoolmates. When the students were far enough, Ken jogged down from the street corner, going through the avenue until he was in front of Spooky's Club. The place held the reputation of being 'the best strip club in town' and he didn't really want his third-grade classmates knowing he lived there. It's not that he was ashamed, it was more of he didn't want those kids exposed to such things yet. He might be in a nine year-old body but he still had a twenty-year-old guy's soul – memories included.

He slipped into the alley and went in through the back door. He found himself in a short hallway with a staircase at the end; he climbed the stairs and reached their living quarters.

It was barely two in the afternoon; the club wouldn't be open until around six which meant that his grandma was probably taking a nap in her room right now. Ken took off his shoes, socks softly padding against the wooden floor as he made his way to his room – his parents' room.

He tossed his backpack onto the bed as he went to his closet to change clothes. The walls of the room were covered in framed pictures, diplomas as well as other awards that he'd gotten from school. He felt rather guilty at having them, really - it made him feel like he was cheating on the other kids. So he turned to tutoring his classmates just to get some of the guilt off of his shoulders. He neatly placed his school clothes on the hanger and left them at the handle of his closet.

As he walked back to his bed, he deliberately stopped and stared at the framed photographs on his bedside table… a fading photo of him as a baby in the arms of his grandmother while a man and a woman stood behind them. The next photo was of him and his father. His smile dropped into a thin line as he picked up the small frame. He'd recognize the man from anywhere and there was no doubt that the smiling shaggy-haired man with the pale skin and broken nose holding him up was Klaus.

It would've been impossible to believe – he knew for a fact that around the time the picture in his hands was taken, Klaus was merely a six-year-old boy at the Umbrella Academy on the other side of the planet – but he also knew about time-travel. Having a really screwed up previous life didn't really seem so bad all of a sudden. Of course, there was also the surprise factor of _Klaus **fathering** a baby_… but Ken never let himself think so much about that… his brother had every right to do whatever he wanted.

With a sigh, Ken returned the photograph to its place and climbed onto the bed. He had homework to do.

**XxXxXxXxX**

Ken was 18 when Cham Soccho died. He would be going off to the university soon but with his grandmother's death, everything was put on hold. He found himself as an unwilling owner of a strip bar. And god knows how much the communist war-winners were taking control of everything right now. It wasn't like he didn't know how to run the bar – it was the 'family business' and he'd been taught all about it ever since he turned thirteen.

He really had a lot of questions to ask Klaus when they meet.

But the main thing was, he _didn't_ want to run a strip club especially when the new government was breathing down his neck. It wasn't what he wanted to do with his second life in any case. This was his second chance to live and he wasn't going to waste it like he did of his first one – being the yes-man, everyone's naïve little brother. There was no father to scrutinize him this time, no Luther to boss him around, no responsibility to save the world. He was plain Cham Ken and he needed to take up the reins in his life, to do things for himself because now he was alone in every sense of the word.

Besides, he has a mission. And Vietnam just wasn't the place for him.

**XxXxXxXxX**

Comb in hand, Ken wore an anxious look in his eyes as he attempted to tame his wet hair in front of the bathroom mirror. Once satisfied, he put down the comb and began to button up his shirt, tucking it inside his slacks and securing it with a belt. Today was a big day.

He walked out of the washroom and headed for his suitcase that lay open on his bed. On the nightstand was a calendar with a big red circle on the present date with the words THESIS DAY scribbled inside. He pulled open the second drawer and grabbed the brown envelope lying there.

Ken sat down at the edge of his bed, inspecting the envelope's contents… floppy disks, presentation print-outs, a hard-bound copy of his thesis. Satisfied, he carefully placed everything inside the suitcase and closed the latches. He stood up and walked over to his closet where a freshly pressed suit and a pinstriped tie awaited him.

Everything was going to be fine.

**XxXxXxXxX**

"Ken! C'mere for a moment!"

The Asian journalist obediently turned around and walked towards the bearded editor-in-chief.

"You called?" Ken asked, both hands casually shoved inside his jacket.

"I need you to do this article," the large man slid a torn piece of paper across his desk. "News just came in from the City Morgue…"

Jet black eyes dilated as the hand that held up the paper shook. "D-Dad…?"

"What's that?" the editor-in-chief raised one bushy brow at the writer.

"Nothing, nothing," Ken replied, slipping the note into his pocket. "Just… Sure, I'll do this…"

"Thanks, I need that within the hour, okay?" his boss smiled at him. "Oh, and one more thing… They said the funeral's gonna be tomorrow morning at the Umbrella Academy, think you can do that, too?"

His heart felt unbelievably troubled but his smile remained nonetheless. "Sure."

"That's a good lad…"

**XxXxXxXxX**

**Hargreeves Dies**

That was his headline for the news article he'd spent his overtime for. It's been five years since he started working for The City Paper. Five grueling years of vice-locked self-control, stopping himself from storming into the Academy, from running out to find his siblings… Five long years of unsolicited visits to Shinyview and when the opportunity to finally reunite with his brothers and sisters presented itself, it just turns out to be their father's death.

Sir Reginald Hargreeves was a greatly respected man in society – with all his contributions to science and all the awards he'd gotten because of his works, there was simply no possible way for anyone not to know him. Hence, Ken's lack of surprise as he found himself being pressed against the Academy's polished black gates that fine morning. The press was heavy, journalists and photographers alike were pushing to get to the front – all wanting to get a clear view of the private funeral service being held within the grounds. They were, naturally, locked out.

But while all the other journalists had their notepads out and were busy scribbling, Ken's hands were gripping the metal bars, jet black eyes focused on the figures in the distance – he could make out four men, two women, a small boy and a chimpanzee with superior intellect; his family. The noise of the crowd was drowned by the sound of his own heartbeat pounding in his ears. His family was there – living, breathing, moving – all alive right before his eyes. He sadly noted that Vanya seems to be missing but that thought was immediately discarded as he recognized The Séance from the rest. His auburn-haired brother had seated himself on a nearby statue – The Horror's statue… _his_ statue.

Ken couldn't stop the smile from spreading across his face – he felt like he had a home again.

**XxXxXxXxX**

It had been a long day and finally, the gates stood empty – quiet, peaceful. No more flashing cameras or chattering news people. It was finally night time.

With a sigh, Ken stood up from his spot, sitting on top of the grassy hill that overlooked the Hargreeves' estate. His position gave him an excellent view of the mansion and its surrounding area. This had been his favorite past time for the past couple of years – sitting and staring at the mansion for a few minutes once a week. And always it only ever had one or two lights turned on… It looked so empty and his heart had felt exactly the same knowing that everyone had left… but now almost all the rooms were lit. The estate was alive again; _he _felt alive again.

The Asian journalist dusted off his jeans – it was dinnertime. However, he had barely taken two steps when the sound of breaking glass reached his ears. He saw Spaceboy fly out of a broken window from the second floor; a blonde man was getting up from the ground and it was towards him that Number One headed. Meanwhile, shadows rushed to the broken window as the others watched Luther land on the ground on two steady feet. A blue pinprick of glowing light from Spaceboy's hand told Ken that his brother was about to fire a laser gun at Kraken who was on the dirt. In spite of the situation, the reincarnated soul couldn't help but watch rather longingly… he missed everyone so badly.

Suddenly, there was a much louder crash – an explosion – and he turned around to find the carnival Ferris wheel ablaze. A sense of urgency came over him and his gaze went back to the mansion only to find his siblings running into the house; they were headed for the Televator, he just knew it, and he also had a clear idea of where they were going next… being trained to protect the world since birth did that to a person even if he was already in his second life. Dinner be damned.

**XxXxXxXxX**

It was a stampede – everyone was rushing to get their asses out of the line of fire as the killer robots faced off with the members of the Umbrella Academy. Ken was sweating profusely but he ignored it – he ignored everything save for the goal of getting out as many of the children possible.

"Shh, it's okay, don't cry," he whispered soothingly to the little girl in his arms, she was trembling so furiously and her cheeks were rosy and wet from crying. He eventually reached the ambulance and passed the girl to a nurse before turning around and sprinting back to the carnival.

His pristine shirt was now soiled with grime and sweat but he was still running – running like his life depended on it. God it's been so long since he felt a thrill like this – knowing that the others were just inside, he felt like he was fighting _with_ them; saving the world like they used to do. He was within a meter of the carnival entrance when a figure on the pavement caught his attention – a little boy was crying on the ground. He quickly changed directions and ran over to the child.

"Are you hurt, little guy?" Ken asked, noticing the child's soiled pants.

"I – I sprained my foot, I think, it hurts…" the boy blubbered as the dark-haired man lifted him up. "A - And I can't find my mommy…"

"Don't worry, I'm sure your mom's alright," Ken assured the boy, securing the child against his chest before standing up and making a beeline to the ambulance. "Let's get you to the doctors for treatment, okay?"

"Find my mommy, mister," the child pleaded. "Please, please find her…"

"I will, I promise I'll–"

**BOOM**

The explosion shook the ground and Ken lost his footing. Wary of the child in his arms, the journalist turned around so that his back would brace the impact. He held the kid tighter against him as his left shoulder hit the asphalt. The sleeve tore off and blood dripped from the gash on his arm, the stinging pain also told him that he might've broken a bone or two… but he was never one to give up. Gritting his teeth, Ken hoisted himself up and continued on his way.

"Sir, are you alright?" a nurse confronted him as the boy he'd rescued was attended to by her peers. "Come with me; let's see your injuries…"

"But there are still children inside!" Ken panted, he could feel his adrenaline rush fading and draining his system, his stomach growled and he felt a wave of nausea. "I… I need to…"

"Sir!"

And then everything went black.

Two days later, he woke up with a bandaged shoulder and an I.V. stuck in his wrist and he had to remind himself that, no, he wasn't the Horror anymore. The vase of flowers on his bedside table clearly read, 'Get well soon, Ken!'.

_Ken_ not Ben.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: **The Umbrella Academy and all its characters used in this fanfiction are copyright of Gerard Way, Dark Horse Comics, etc. I am not making any profit out of this.

**Summary: **Nobody wants a sob-story; especially not gods that look like cowboys.

**Pairing: **Klaus/Ben

**A/N: **Back to present time…

**XxXxXxXxX**

**Chapter Four : The dawn under the stars**

**XxXxXxXxX**

_Fireworks for the dead_

_Its time to put yourself to bed_

_In the hospital, the friends you stole surround you_

"Did the devil sign your cheeeck? Wooohooo~ Yeahh!"

"K-Klaus! D-don't move so much!"

"Can't stop me~!" the medium shouted, taking large strides, dragging his companion along.

"Wha – Wait!" Ken grasped the arm over his shoulders tighter, unwilling to let the drunk psychic walk off on his own. Granted, both of them had downed copious amounts of alcohol through the day, the Vietnam-born writer still had some semblance of a clear head – growing up with a bar under your house helped with that.

It was past eight in the evening and the only solid food they'd taken in were the mixed nuts at the bar. Dinner was out of the question – they had decided rather unanimously that they didn't have much of a stomach for food at the moment. Restaurants also had a tendency of declining patrons who reeked of alcohol, so yeah… there they were, leaning on each other as they trekked up to the blown up Hargreeves Manor.

Ken had listened to Klaus' story the whole afternoon, absorbing every detail and getting his heart broken as the psychic recounted the gory events. He'd been holding back his tears all day – he didn't want to cry in front of Klaus even if he'd had no trouble doing so when he was Ben. Their 'reunion' was weird enough as it is, he didn't need Klaus getting suspicious of him – if the medium wasn't already, anyway; Ken wanted to do things right this time around…

They stumbled past the crooked gates, the ruins of the estate loomed over them and Ken felt his stomach churn – he was home again. When he'd left the bar earlier, he asked Klaus where he lived so he could drop him off; the Séance had replied '_At the old hellhole, where else?' _which Ken easily understood to mean 'The Academy.' The journalist obliged and hailed a taxi to get them there but only when their ride had left them in front of the ruins did he realize that there wasn't a proper room in the rubbles for the medium to spend the night.

Ken's expression turned anxious as they walked up the beaten path decorated with debris and broken furniture, molds growing all over the place. "Klaus, are you sure this is where –"

"Yep," the auburn-haired medium chirped, slipping his arm off his companion's shoulders and taking flight. He circled the air once before settling down into a cleared patch of grass in the middle. "Ahh… Home sweet home!"

The journalist tentatively walked over to the older man, "Don't tell me you plan on sleeping there…"

Klaus blew away the bangs that had fallen into his face. "Okay then, I won't tell you," he replied in a cheery tone, stretching out his arms and legs, telepathically pushing more of the debris away from him, making space.

"Darn it, Klaus," Ken muttered, standing beside the man. "You can't sleep _here_, what if muggers come and attack you? We could check you into a hotel or something for the night…"

"Pssh, naww," Klaus smiled sloppily from below, spreading out his limbs as though he was going to make snow angels. "I saved the fucking world, remember?" he grinned "I can take care of me~"

"But Klaus –"

"Jesus, Ben, I told you I'm fine!"

The dark-haired man bit down on his tongue in an attempt to stifle the gasp in his throat, his insides felt cold and hollow all of a sudden. Klaus called him Ben. _Ben_. Had Klaus figured him out already? It wouldn't be surprising, his brother was a genius! So what should he do? He wanted to confess – it would make things easier, but… he wasn't Ben Hargreeves right now, was he? Not physically, at least.

Muddy brown eyes softened as the Séance realized what he'd said. The Asian man had gone eerily quiet and he found the jet black eyes staring at the gates. He felt the shoes near his side shift and heard the beginning of a mumbled statement before he cut it off.

"I didn't mean that."

The Séance's brown eyes met with twin black orbs.

"The way you sound just reminded me of someone… an old friend."

"Oh… I'm so sorry, then…" Ken mumbled, breaking eye contact choosing to stare at the distance way past Klaus. Wrong choice. Not more than a few yards away, he spotted what appeared to be Ben's statue – or at least half of it – battered, lying on the ground, accumulating molds. "I… I should go now…"

"No, wait!" Klaus abruptly sat up, making Ken halt with one foot half-lifted from the grass.

"It's okay… I wouldn't want you to remember someone you'd rather forget…" Ken smiled sadly. "You must've hated that guy…"

"I didn't hate Ben, I loved him."

The seriousness in Klaus' tone washed over him like a tidal wave. The wind blew harshly but neither of the two flinched. Ken felt his cheeks burning and he found nothing to say which Klaus took as a chance to continue.

"You're a nice guy in your own right, Ken," withered auburn locks gently caressed the pale face. "So how about joining me down here for a little while longer?" A black-tipped hand patted the turf beside him in invitation. "The view's nice, too…" Klaus raised his face towards the heavens where a million diamonds shone.

Ken looked up – to hide his face more than anything; his thoughts were racing and his heart was pounding. _Only Klaus…_

He wanted to stay. Without a word, the journalist stepped back and folded his knees, his back hit the soft grass and a quiet sigh escaped his lips.

Klaus was already snoring but it didn't look like it was going to rain.

_When he pulled you from the wreck_

_There was nothing left to recognize about you_


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: **The Umbrella Academy and all its characters used in this fanfiction are copyright of Gerard Way, Dark Horse Comics, etc. I am not making any profit out of this.

**Summary: **Nobody wants a sob-story; especially not gods that look like cowboys.

**Pairing: **Klaus/Ben

**A/N: **I'm getting slow in updating, sorry…

**XxXxXxXxX**

**Chapter Five : Breakfast with mayhem**

**XxXxXxXxX**

The sunlight was hot on his face and there was a marching band in his head; with a loud groan, Ken rolled to his side, snuggling closer to the grass… hold on… _grass_?

The twenty-two year old journalist sat up, panic coursing through his veins, only to clutch at his pounding cranium a few seconds later. He massaged his temples in an attempt to ease the pain; when it became bearable, he opened his eyes to find himself all alone in the middle of the obliterated mansion. A familiar dark purple varsity-style jacket lay crumpled on his lap but he found the space beside him to be empty. He picked up the jacket and folded it neatly, hanging it over one arm as he stood up and stretched – popping a couple of joints in the process.

Bright yellow sunshine fell from the sky and his first thought was 'What time is it?' Judging by the bustling view of the city in the distance, Ken answered his question with 'Probably eight or something…' which led him to a mind-numbing conclusion: He was late.

"Shit," the expletive shot from his mouth as he hastened to put on his loafers – when did those come off? As one hand held Klaus' jacket, the other was busy with brushing away the twigs, leaves and grass bits from himself. "I'm late. I'm late. Shit, I'm fucking late."

"Well aren't _you_ colorful this morning?" a voice spoke from behind and Ken turned to find the Séance floating towards him in his wrinkled t-shirt and jeans, black-painted toes brushing the taller grasses as he passed.

"Klaus!" the younger man exclaimed, running to meet the medium.

"Told ya nothing's gonna happen," Klaus said with a smirk, folding his legs and adopting a sitting position in mid-air.

"Yes, well, thanks for the jacket," Ken smiled back, returning the said jacket to its owner. "Anyway, I've got to go; I'm already late for work."

"But you're smashed," Klaus pointed out, grinning. "You can't show up to work drunk! You haven't even showered yet…"

"That's why I need to get home stat," Ken said, fast-walking down the trail. "And I'm not _that_ drunk…"

"Why can't you just call in sick?" Klaus suggested, floating beside the journalist. "You're already late, might as well make the most of it and just take a half-day…"

"I don't have a phone on me."

"Well, I do."

Ken stopped in his tracks and faced the redhead. "You could've told me that _sooner_, you know."

The Séance's grin only widened.

**XxXxXxXxX**

"You guys live _underground_?" Ken asked in bewilderment, staring wide-eyed at the portal in front of them.

"Sure do," Klaus replied, diving into the tunnel. "Come on~" his voice echoed.

Ken gingerly got inside the tunnel; he gripped the hand ladder tightly, and began his descent into the darkness.

"You're gonna take forever if you go down like that!" he heard Klaus shout from below. "Let go and I'll just levitate you." Ken sighed and rolled his eyes.

"No thanks," he replied, quickening his pace; he dropped onto the floor only a few seconds later.

The auburn-haired medium merely shook his head at him, a small smile on the black-painted lips as he led the smaller man towards the telephone.

"Abjihat's cooking breakfast," Klaus began casually as Ken picked up the receiver and began dialing his office's phone number. The medium waited for a couple of seconds (enough time for the line to pick up) before following up. "And I told him you'd be staying over for some…"

Jet black eyes widened at him but the younger man never got to object as the other end of the line picked up his call and he was forced to give it his attention.

Meanwhile, Klaus flew over to the kitchen and told the Indian man that he had a guest for breakfast. When the Séance went back to the anteroom, Ken was looking rather upset at him.

"Boss got mad?" Klaus asked, noticing the look on the Asian's face.

"No, he said it was fine," Ken replied in a clipped manner.

"Then what's the face for?"

"I can't eat _here_!" Ken stressed, brows knitting together in worry. "What if someone sees me?"

"So?" Klaus nonchalantly raised a brow.

As if on cue, the doors labeled 00.03 opened and Allison stepped out – a bathrobe draped over her sleepwear. Her blue eyes immediately spotted the Séance with an unknown man. "Who's your guest, Klaus?" fatigue and disinterest rang clear in her voice.

"Oh hey," the medium regarded his sister. "This is Ken, he's my drinking buddy and he's staying over for breakfast."

"No I'm not!" Ken insisted, facing the Rumor with an apologetic smile. "I'm very sorry for intruding, Allison, but I'm really just leaving…"

"Hold on a second!" cerulean eyes narrowed at the dark-haired journalist whose expression displayed fear. "Did you just call me _Allison_?"

Too late did Ken realize his mistake – he shouldn't be on first name terms with any of them. He was supposed to play the 'just a fan' role. Damn. "Um… I didn't mean… to?"

"I thought so," The Rumor looked contemplative for a second, eyes going between her brother and the younger man. Finally, a smile worthy of poisoned honey rose on her lips. "You know, I heard a rumor that you _were _going to stay for breakfast…"

**XxXxXxXxX**

"The hell are you?"

Cham Ken froze.

His fate of breakfast with the Hargreeves' had already been sealed and everything had been going swimmingly well (sarcasm included). In the last half-hour he'd been treated to scrutinizing stares, no matter how discreet his 'ex-siblings' tried to be, he knew he was being watched closely. He appreciated their effort though and he understood why they were so wary of him… but then came the Kraken. And Ken was praying so hard, too, that this would be one of the days where Diego didn't feel like showing up for breakfast (thrice a week was 00.002's quota back when they were kids). But apparently, some cowboy in the heavens decided that he had to face Diego today. He could almost hear the knife's blade sharpening just for him…

"Let me ask again," Diego spoke, threat laced in every word. The blonde looked more rugged than Ken remembered – _scarier_ would be a better word, actually. "Who. The fuck. Are you?"

"K-Ken," the Asian man tried but he just couldn't help stuttering, not when his 'ex-brother' was most likely wishing him bloody murder.

"Ken _what_?" the unshaven blonde pressed on, the glare still glued on his face.

"Ah–"

"Oh come on, Diego!" Klaus saved his guest the effort of replying as he took up the conversation. "Stop trying to kill him with that look… He's my drinking buddy!"

"And since when did your _drinking buddies_ ever get a free pass to the house?" the Kraken challenged, staring down at the auburn-haired medium with disdain.

"Since the rest of us didn't mind," Allison answered easily, putting down her coffee cup and meeting her brother's stare calmly.

Diego's scowl deepened, giving Ken one more contemptuous look before marching off. The _clang_ of the portal's cover signaled his exit, a cue for the cutlery to move once again.

"You work for The City Paper, right?"

Jet black eyes were wide in surprise as he found himself being addressed by Number Five. Ken bit down on his tongue anxiously, nodding. The brunet across the table from him looked so young – it's like he hasn't aged a bit ever since 'Ben' last saw him more than two decades ago.

"How's the downtown orphanage?" the boy asked, his tone superior as his chocolate-brown eyes stared at the Asian man.

Ken gulped; he should've expected the interrogation. "Um, I haven't heard of anything bad going on around that area so I suppose the orphanage is doing well…"

"I see," Number Five nodded, a yip from Mr. Pennycrumb on the floor stealing his attention.

"Would you like some more toast, dear?" Mrs. Hargreeves' offered and Ken couldn't really decline.

**XxXxXxXxX**

The Late Night News had just finished airing when a dull clang from their 'door' announced the arrival of one of their numbers.

An empty shot glass skidded to the edge of the table as the Séance peeked at the newcomer.

"Finished with your lifestyle check, Kraken?" Klaus asked, a smirk playing on his black-colored lips.

Diego scowled as he straightened up, he was back in his Kraken uniform but his overgrown sideburns still remained. "You fucking brought that kid in here on purpose didn't you? Too stoned to do your own research, Klaus?"

The grin faded from the Séance's lips, a level look surfacing in his muddy brown eyes. "Wouldn't make a difference to you either way… So what did you find out?"

The rugged face was never free from frowns as the blonde crossed his arms and answered. "His full name's Cham Ken, aged 22," the gravelly voice was filled with spite but Klaus focused more on the details being reported. "He moved to the city five years ago to take up his college degree, sidelining as a writer at The City Paper in the same year and picked up a stable post once he graduated. He was born in _Vietnam _during the war and he was brought up by his grandmother in a strip club."

"Well ain't those some credentials," Klaus commented lightly, floating out of his seat and landing on his feet.

"In other words," Diego ground out, staring eye to eye with his brother. "He's more than likely your fucking _son_."

Klaus didn't even look surprised, "10% chance, don't you think? More or less…"

"You have a _son_?" Allison stepped out from the shadows, a look of disbelief etched on her pretty face.

"Is it so hard to believe, sister?" Klaus asked, one eyebrow arched high.

"You're gay." Allison said flatly, hands on her hips.

The Séance merely grinned, turning his attention to his blonde brother. "Any idea where he lives?"


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: **The Umbrella Academy and all its characters used in this fanfiction are copyright of Gerard Way, Dark Horse Comics, etc. I am not making any profit out of this.

**Summary: **Nobody wants a sob-story; especially not gods that look like cowboys.

**Pairing: **Klaus/Ben

**A/N: **The story's nearly done… and last chapter would probably be the only time we'd get to see the other members of the Academy… This is such a bland Ken-centric story. =_=

**XxXxXxXxX**

**Chapter Six : Office hours**

**XxXxXxXxX**

Ken stood patiently as his latest article came out of the office printer; it was a report about the week's lottery winner - an 80 year-old lady downtown who'd been raising her six grandkids all by herself. He'd entitled his work 'The Senior Moment' and his editor laughingly approved it, it was now time to hand over his final draft to the editor-in-chief for a checking before it could be passed to the lay-out artists.

The second page finished printing and Ken picked it up, still warm, and headed to the EIC's cubicle at the far end of the office. The mustached man readily scanned the article handed to him as the Vietnam-born journalist idly stood by – it wouldn't take the man long to check his paper, after all. The larger man hummed as he scribbled OK in red ink at the bottom right corner of the paper along with his signature before giving it back to the writer with an approving grin.

"You keep writing like that and I bet you'd be promoted by the end of the year," the beefy man smiled.

"Thank you sir," Ken replied, returning the man's smile. He made a beeline towards the door, deciding to hand in his news article himself to the lay-out department upstairs. About ten feet away from the exit, he found his route blocked by a smiling couple.

"Hey Ken, where are you headed?" a brunette greeted, her red-painted lips set to a mega-watt smile.

"Just going to hand over my report to the lay-out artists upstairs," Ken replied, "Anything you'd like me to bring along?" he asked, knowing full-well what his co-worker's purpose were.

"Well aren't you a genius?"A red-headed male grinned widely, revealing a brown folder from behind him.

"Eh, practice makes perfect," Ken joked, taking the folder into his hands.

"A true GQ!" the other man laughed, patting the Asian on the shoulder. "Ain't that right, Cassandra?" he smiled at the brunette beside him.

"Oh shut up, Lance," the woman, Cassandra, pouted.

Ken merely smiled at his officemates' antics but then his eyes spotted the clock above the door – it was already half-past four. "Um, guys, I should be going now… Anything you have to submit, Cass? I could bring it up for you, too…"

"Oh no, you don't have to," Cassandra kindly declined the offer, "I'll go up with you to submit the article myself; I'm not a lazy ass like _some _people…" Her hazel eyes pointed at Lance who wore a sheepish grin.

"You sure?" Ken asked, "I really don't mind if – "

"I'm sure, Ken, really," the brunette smiled, looping her arm with the man's. "You are such a sweetheart… So shall we?"

"Uh…" nervous black eyes turned to their red-haired co-worker only to have himself pushed to a walking start.

"Bye-bye lovebirds~" Lance gave the two a wink before walking off to his cubicle.

"You really have to stop being so nice to everyone," Cassandra began as she and Ken waited for the elevator.

"What's wrong with that?" Ken wondered, "And can't we just take the stairs? It's just one floor up…"

"Well, everyone's going to take advantage of your kindness," Cassandra pointed out as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. At that moment, the metal doors of the lift opened before them and Ken had no choice but to step inside – the brunette was still holding his arm.

"Nah, I don't think they will," Ken said, just to fill the empty air.

Cassandra sighed dramatically at that. A gentle 'ping' announced their arrival on the upper floor and the duo stepped out, the open doors of the lay-out department meeting them. Thankfully, the brunette had released Ken's arm by the time that they entered the office.

A bespectacled woman met them and took their reports, giving the pair a quick word of thanks before rushing the papers to one of the artists. With their business done, Ken wordlessly headed for the stairs, smiling slightly when the sound of clacking heels hastily followed his steps.

"That wasn't fair, Ken," the hazel-eyed brunette pouted at him, "Have you _not_ seen these heels? My feet are dying and you made me run down a flight of stairs…"

"Sorry, Cass," Ken wore an apologetic smile, "But maybe you should wear more comfortable shoes at work…"

Cassandra brushed off the Asian's suggestion with a wave of her manicured hands. "Will you be leaving now?" she asked as they entered their office.

"Yeah," Ken nodded, grabbing his timecard from its mount on the wall and clocking out.

"Ooh, okay, wait for me, alright? I'll just grab my bag…"

The Vietnamese journalist didn't get to say a word as the features writer skipped off.

**XxXxXxXxX**

"You're going to Vic's party this Saturday, right?" Cassandra asked as the elevator hit the ground floor.

"Of course," Ken answered, as the two of them headed out the front doors. One hand was loosely gripping the strap of his body bag and the other was shoved into the pocket of his khaki slacks. Thankfully, the brunette wasn't attached to his arm this time as he felt his face heat up at the sight of a certain spirit medium leaning against the lamp post outside the building.

"Hey," Klaus said in greeting, two fingers holding up a lit cigarette, feet floating an inch off the ground. He was back in his all-black ensemble.

"Klaus…" Ken hurried down the steps, nose crinkling at the smell of nicotine. "What are you doing here?"

"Just droppin' by," brown eyes peered over the dark mop of hair, spotting the brunette standing behind the journalist apparently waiting for the younger man. "So who's your girl?" he asked, smirking.

"What? _Oh_!" Ken hastily turned around to find his co-worker smiling politely. He motioned for her to come closer, of which she easily complied.

"Cassandra, this is Klaus – I mean, the Séance." Ken hastily corrected himself, "You know the Séance, right?" Jet black eyes turned to the psychic. "This is Cassandra Myrfield, she writes for the features section of the Paper."

"You're _the Séance_?" hazel eye stared at the pale man with great wonder. "You look so… different…"

"The saving the world business takes a big toll on people, good lady," Klaus replied, taking a drag of cigarette and exhaling to the side. "Well, anyway, I wouldn't want to stall you two – "

"You aren't," Ken cut in; now wasn't the time for Klaus to make the wrong conclusions. "We just got out of the office…"

Cassandra's smile looked a little strained in Klaus' opinion but he asked anyway. "You're not gonna walk the nice lady home?"

"We were just headed for the bus stop," Ken answered with a casual shrug. He bit on his tongue just to stop himself from adding '_Do you wanna go somewhere?'_ at the end; that would've been rude to Cassandra.

"Really?" one angled brow rose as Klaus threw his cigarette towards a nearby trashcan.

"Yes, really," Cassandra replied this time, her voice carrying a sweet tone. "But oh look at the time," she turned her left wrist for effect. "I really have to head home. I'm sorry but I'll have to go ahead of you, Ken… See you tomorrow. And it's been an honor to meet you, Mr. Séance." With a polite wave, the brunette walked away, heels tapping a steady rhythm on the asphalt.

Once the woman was out of hearing range, Klaus spoke.

"You're not very good with the ladies," he pointed out, idly inspected his newly-painted nails.

Ken tilted his head lightly, looking up at the medium. "So why _are_ you here?" he could barely hide his grin.

The Séance was silent for a moment, muddy brown eyes taking in the younger man's appearance: t-shirt, blazer, slacks and loafers. It was funny how three days ago he'd left an infant in Vietnam only to reunite with the boy's grown-up counterpart later in the same day. And now here he was: picking up the boy – er, _man_ from work like some old soccer mom… **_dad!_** make that _dad_.

"Klaus?" Ken tentatively stepped closer, looking worriedly up at the taller man. "Are you alright?"

"Oh yeah, sorry… I was just thinking," the Séance apologized, shoving both hands into his trench coat's pocket.

"About what?" the corner of Ken's lips quirked up at the innocent question.

At that point, Klaus mentally damned the universe as he found himself staring a little too intently at the younger man's face… the deep black eyes, the high cheekbones, slender nose, moist lips… Damn his boy was flawless.

Ken felt his cheeks burn as Klaus continued his silent stares. What could the medium be thinking of? He was afraid to speak; the silence wasn't awkward, rather, it was inquisitive… gentle… inviting…

"Oh hey Ken!" a familiar red-head's voice broke the quiet and Ken turned to find Lance going out of the building. "I thought you were with Cass?"

"She, uh, went ahead," Ken replied, willing away the blush on his cheeks.

"Why?" his fellow journalist asked, stepping towards him until his bright green eyes noticed the floating medium in front of his friend. "Oh hey, you're that Séance dude! You saved the world!" Lance exclaimed, recognizing the man.

"Hello to you too, fanboy number 378102," Klaus smirked at the man.

"Man you're awesome!" Lance turned to his Asian co-worker. "Why didn't you tell me you guys knew each other?"

"It's only been three days…" Ken sheepishly responded.

Lance's green eyes turned from the journalist to the psychic and back. "Ohh… Okay," he smiled. "Anyway, Vic handed out invitations …" He dug into his jacket's pocket and pulled out three rectangular pieces of paper, one of which he handed to Ken. "Here's yours."

"He gave out invites when his party's at a bar?" Ken raised a brow that Lance answered with a shrug.

"Anyway, I gotta get going," the red-head said, returning the other invites to his jacket. "Wife's a callin'. And I am _so_ telling her about meeting _you_!" Green eyes brightly turned to the medium.

"You do that," Ken waved goodbye as his fellow journalist jogged away.

"Would you just look at the social butterfly that we have here…" Klaus grinned as Ken shot him a flat look, slipping the invitation into his bag.

"Now really, Klaus," the younger man stated. "Why did you come here?"

"You don't want me visiting?"

"No – I mean, its okay but why would you even – "

Klaus chuckled to himself at the other man's expense which led to Ken resorting to hitting him square in the shoulder.

"Don't laugh," Ken pouted, the annoyed expression on his face coupled with a dull pink blush.

"Fine, I won't." A snort escaped the medium and Ken frowned.

"Okay, okay, I'll stop…"

The journalist sighed. "Do you really need me to ask again?"

"Yeah, I forgot the question…"

"Ugh," pale hands were slapped onto the Asian's face as Ken groaned in annoyance, his exclamation muffled by his palms. "You're driving me insane, Klaus!"

"Crazy is what crazy do," Klaus quoted, grinning like a maniac, bopping up and down on his spot. "Speaking of crazy, I got a couple more sachets in my back pocket if you need a pick-me-up…"

Slim fingers parted for jet black eyes to gaze quizzically at the older man. "What sachets - ?" And it suddenly dawned on him. Oh shit.

"Klaus!"

Ken hastily brought down his hands in alarm, scanning the surrounding area to check if anyone could've heard them.

"What?" the medium asked nonchalantly, blowing at a stray lock of auburn hair.

"Why do you have _those **things**_ with you?" Ken's tone had taken on an anxious tone as he whispered urgently. "They're illegal!"

"Well _yeah_," Klaus rolled his eyes. "But they're pretty good at getting me up in the morning… You sure you don't – "

"No!" Pain laced the smaller man's words. "Klaus, please just go home…"

"Why should I? After I've gone all this way to get a haircut…"

Ken badly needed a wall to hit his head against right now. "… A haircut?"

"Yeah," Klaus lifted his left hand and raked back his over-grown hair. "I mean, come on, half my fanbase can't even recognize me with this 'do…"

"That doesn't answer why you're here…" Ken said, deflating.

"I thought you could help me choose a new look…"

"The old one's good."

"And maybe we could get dinner."

Ken was struck speechless for a second as the Séance's crazy grin melted into a half-smile.

"So what do you say?" Klaus prompted.

Ken could feel the color creeping back up his cheeks and he released a sigh. He never could say no.

"Okay," he found himself smiling. "But no more beer…"


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: **The Umbrella Academy and all its characters used in this fanfiction are copyright of Gerard Way, Dark Horse Comics, etc. I am not making any profit out of this.

**Summary: **Nobody wants a sob-story; especially not gods that look like cowboys.

**Pairing: **Klaus/Ben

**XxXxXxXxX**

**Chapter Seven : Pick me up**

**XxXxXxXxX**

The ringing alarm clock echoed in the dark room, blaring incessantly until a pale hand surfaced from the pristine bed sheets and switched the gadget off. The hand slid back into the covers and for a whole minute, everything was still. Then slowly, a pair of hands gripped the blanket's edge, pulling it down and uncovering a mop of unruly black hair and a sleepy-looking face.

Cham Ken sat up in bed, blinking – waiting for the feeling to get back to his system. The white sheets over his feet moved as he rotated the appendages, soothing out the knots. Satisfied that he could feel his feet again, Ken slid out of bed, dropping onto the carpeted floor. A yawn escaped his lips as he treaded towards the bathroom.

"Didn't know you liked black as much as I did," an amused voice said from the direction of the window.

It was true; Ken's sleepwear consisted of a black t-shirt and black boxers.

"Shut up, Klaus," Ken mumbled, stifling another yawn. A split-second later, he paused, mouth still wide open. His eyes grew wide as he snapped his head towards the open window on his left where an auburn-haired psychic was currently floating by. Panic shot through his nerves and the journalist made a jump for the bed, manically grabbing the blankets and covering himself.

"What are you doing here?" Consideration for his neighbors seemed to have flown out of the window as Ken full-out screamed.

The Séance, meanwhile, was laughing his heart out, rolling around ten-feet above the ground.

Once his heartbeats had returned to normal, Ken stomped over to the window, blankets still draped all-over his form. He slammed the window shut on the cackling man and leaned back against it; he could still hear Klaus howling with laughter outside.

He leaned his head back and groaned – he wanted to feel annoyed but instead, he was suddenly full of self-consciousness. Damn it.

There was a tap on the window pane but Ken ignored it, clutching the white sheets closer to his body.

"Ke~n!" He heard the hollow echo from behind him. "Come on, Ken, open up~!" He still didn't reply. "It's freezing out here!"

Ken grimaced as he knew his resolve had just crumbled to bits. Stupid Klaus. He faced he window and saw the Séance cross-legged outside, dressed in dark jeans, a black tank top and an unbuttoned silver-lined black dress shirt that swayed in the morning breeze. The dark-haired man held the blankets tighter around himself with one hand as the other one unlatched the window – giving entrance to the medium. Ken stepped back, the white bed sheet covering his body like a cape as Klaus flew in through the window, landing on the carpet on his black-painted feet.

Thin lips pursed as the medium casually surveyed his home; asking Klaus the reason for this visit was out of the question – he'd (_re-_)learned only two days ago that there wasn't much use in getting straight information out of the guy. So he settled for next question that was lounging on the top of his head…

"You want some coffee?" Ken asked somewhat begrudgingly; his apartment had technically just been broken into but he still felt the need to be a proper host.

"Hm? Oh yeah, that'd be great!" Klaus chirped, getting into the air and hovering above the unmade bed. "Man, I'm still groggy…"

"It's a quarter to six, how long have you been out there?" Ken asked as he padded over to the kitchenette which was separated from his bedroom by a low divider. He switched on the light and shivered when his bare feet met the cold tiles.

"I'd say not more than five minutes," Klaus replied, floating in after the young man. "So why are you wearing your blankets again?"

"Because you're here and I wouldn't look decent without it," Ken answered, filling a kettle with water and setting it over the stove to boil.

"Really?" Klaus dropped low and sat on the kitchen table where Ken had set down two mugs – one black, one white. "Well you look like a hobo."

"…Thank you," Ken said, pulling out the jars of coffee, sugar and cream from the cupboards and setting them beside the mugs. "The white one's mine."

The auburn-haired medium raised the two mugs in front of him. "Hope You Die…?" he read the inscription in scratchy lettering on the both mugs.

"I won them at the Halloween raffle at the office party two years ago," Ken explained, shrugging; he took care in making sure that his lower regions were covered as he sat down on a stool.

"Can I keep the black one?" Klaus asked, telepathically setting down the white mug in front of his host as the black one found its place beside him.

"Why?" Ken wondered aloud, elbow on the table, palm cushioning his cheek.

"Cuz this is cool, man!" Klaus smiled wide, picking up his mug in one hand and posing it over his mouth. "It'd fun drinking from this in front of Diego… and even Number Five! Ha! Allison wouldn't be amused, but why the heck not? You gotta give this to me!" He brandished the drinking cup like a sword. "It's like the most bad-ass mug out there!"

"It's just an invert of the white one," Ken pointed out, a half-smile on his lips as he traced the rim of the said cup with one finger.

"Well, _duh_," Klaus rolled his eyes, "But black totally nails the message harder. Don't worry, though, your white mug takes second place…"

"I don't understand why we're discussing coffee mugs at six in the morning…" Ken grinned, getting up from his seat and turning off the stove as the kettle's high-pitched whistle reached his ears. He put down the piping hot kettle on a coaster on the table and opened up the jars – a wordless invite to his guest to start making his own coffee.

Two empty coffee mugs later, Klaus was lying on the bed flat on his stomach, flipping through TV channels. The journalist, on the other hand, was taking a quick shower in the bathroom, emerging in his office clothes around ten minutes later.

"What are you watching?" Ken asked, towel-drying his hair and taking a seat at the edge of his now-made bed.

"Nothin'," Klaus replied in a bored tone, changing the channels so quickly that everything was a blur and eventually turning the TV off.

"Don't you watch the morning news?" Ken asked, eyes following the Séance who had floated up to the ceiling.

"Nope," was the simple reply.

"Well, I'll be going to work," Ken stated, heading into the bathroom to hang his towel and brush his hair.

"What? You don't eat in the morning?" Klaus asked, dropping to the floor and telepathically sliding the window shut.

"I usually just pick up some bagels or something from the bakery," Ken answered, closing the bathroom lights as he went out. "Don't tell me you're going to tag along…"

Black-painted lips formed a pout and Klaus wore a thoughtful expression as he replied, "If you give me the mug, I won't…"

"Alright, fine, you can have it," Ken conceded, picking up his messenger bag from the office chair by the desk at the corner.

"You know what? I reckon there's still a next time for that mug…" Klaus said, grinning.

"Oh whatever," Ken sighed, snatching up his apartment keys and putting those in his pocket.

The medium followed the journalist out the door, hovering two inches from the floor. The door swung shut behind him and the two of them proceeded to the elevators.

Predictably, people stared at the pair when they stepped onto the street – Klaus was recognizable again with his short, side-swept haircut back. It was most noticeable when the busy bakery parted like the Red Sea when they walked in to make their purchases.

"Well, it looks like you've got your fanbase again…" Ken commented as they continued down the roadside.

"Heh," Klaus picked a bagel from the paper bag in Ken's arms, earning him a small frown from the journalist. "That was nothing – you should've been there when I went into the supermarket that one time…"

Ken only smiled and shook his head, halting as they reached the bus stop at the street corner.

"Guess this is your stop," the medium said, mouth full of bread, brown eyes meeting black.

"Yeah," Ken replied, folding the top of the bakery paper bag close. He gave the older man a smile. "You should head back to the Academy and get yourself a proper breakfast… And please don't show up at the office again…"

Klaus smirked and ruffled the smaller man's hair. "Yes, _mom_," he chided, to which Ken replied by lightly swatting the offending hand away… or at least, he meant to.

Klaus' hand was large and the skin was rather cold - the palm itself felt like worn leather; his fingers were skeletally pale and thin, contrasting with the black nail polish on their tips. Ken didn't mean to but it just came out of habit – _Ben_'s habit – his thumb lightly brushed the medium's palm, feeling the inked skin which was a bit rougher than the rest; it was Klaus' right hand – the one that said 'HELLO'. Ken smiled as a blue bus stopped by and he knew that it was his ride, realizing only then how awkward the situation he'd gotten himself into was. His cheeks bloomed red and he hastily let go of the psychic's hand, muttering a quick goodbye and running into the bus.

He took a seat by the window and cautiously peered past the curtains. Klaus was still standing at the stop, a curious look playing on his features as he stared at his right hand. The Séance looked up and almost automatically found Ken staring at him from the window. Then the bus' engine roared and the journalist was gone.


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: **The Umbrella Academy and all its characters used in this fanfiction are copyright of Gerard Way, Dark Horse Comics, etc. I am not making any profit out of this.

**Summary: **Nobody wants a sob-story; especially not gods that look like cowboys.

**Pairing: **Klaus/Ben

**XxXxXxXxX**

**Chapter Eight : This ain't a party**

**XxXxXxXxX**

Ken eyed himself in them mirror: black long-sleeved cotton shirt, an unbuttoned green plaid shirt, dark denims and sneakers. Good enough, he decided with a shrug. His dark eyes flew to the wall clock that read 6:20, he still had 40 minutes before he was expected at Vic's party at the Woodbine Club. Victor was the news editor, an amiable man midway through his thirties who was the life of the party at any get-together. The celebrant came from a wealthy family and rumors had been circulating the office that the editor had rented the whole Club for the night.

The Vietnamese stepped away from the mirror, going out of the bathroom and plopping face down on his bed. It has barely been a week since he'd imposed himself on Klaus and the way things were going so smoothly was honestly a terrible surprise for him. He'd known Klaus before, he'd grown up with him once upon a time and he knew that the medium wasn't a very trusting man. The man who had been his brother was indifferent by default to the things around him so he's really wondering why the man was playing along with him… popping up in his home and workplace… It was as if The Séance _knew_ something… which he probably does, Ken told himself, so the question should really be _what_ did Klaus know?

The journalist turned over, staring up at the ceiling where the bright fluorescent lamp burned his eyes; breathing heavily, his eyelids fluttered close and he cleared his thoughts. But his brain didn't seem to want to cooperate.

A grimace formed on his face as he remembered this morning's incident… He didn't really have to hold Klaus' hand like that - he had no right to. None at all. But going through puberty a second time and barely being out of it at the moment… Ugh, stupid! Stop it, brain! Both his hands rose to cover his face.

He wanted to kiss Klaus. And during their little coffee break that morning? Yeah, he wanted to do so much more…

Ken groaned in frustration. _Ben_ wouldn't have such thoughts. Ben didn't even have the word 'sex' in his dictionary. So Ben couldn't possibly use the words 'sex', 'kitchen table' and 'Klaus' together in the same sentence but Ken did. Just that morning he did and _oh shit_ he was so very doomed.

"You weren't reborn to get laid, Ken!" the man muttered vehemently to himself. "And he's your god damned father. You. Are. Blood-related. Stop thinking those thoughts!"

With a determined mien, Cham Ken sat up. This vow of celibacy wasn't working for him. He needed a boyfriend… or a girlfriend, whichever.

**XxXxXxXxX**

"You look fantastic!"

"Really?" the brunette faced her friend, beaming.

"Yeah, really," Ken smiled back, making an effort to make himself heard as they neared the club.

"Aw, thanks!" Cassandra was skipping in her steps, the bangles on her wrist clinking. She hadn't worn her mini-shorts and neon leggings in a long time, being told that she looked good in them (by Ken of all people) really put her in good spirits. All her troubles in curling her hair were suddenly worth it.

There was a small line to the Woodbine Club, a security personnel was blocking the door, checking people's invites and belongings before letting them in. The pair eventually got through the security check and entered the vicinity, a synthesized beat welcoming them. Strobe lights illuminated the whole club, flashing alternating hues of neon colors in sync with the playing music. A huge dance floor was situated at the middle and it was filled with eager partygoers. Cubicles lined the walls and went up all the way to the second floor –this level had its center cut out providing something like a terrace for the people to see over the dance area. A wide bar stood in one corner where at least three bartenders were serving their patrons; a bright almost golden glow seemed to emit from the place as though to attract more customers and it didn't help that the glasses and bottles displayed reflected very well.

Everywhere they turned, they recognized people from the high end of the news industry – writers, photographer, and, of course, there were the celebrities taking photo ops. Cassandra had taken to clutching Ken by the arm, fearing that they get separated in the middle of the crowd. Eventually, they bumped into Lance who greeted the both of them with a wide smile, his hand being busily wrapped around a gorgeous blonde woman.

"Lance! Regine! So glad to see you!" Cassandra gushed, moving forward to greet her officemate's wife.

"I'm surprised you're early," Ken said jokingly, hands in his pockets.

"And I'm surprised you have a date for once," Lance replied in a jeering whisper as the two women hugged and kissed each other on the cheeks. Leaning closer to the Asian, he added, "Planning to score on Cass tonight?"

"What? No!" Ken denied in an affronted tone. "We just happened to meet on the way here…"

Lance didn't get a chance to retort when his wife asked the group, "You guys wanna get seats?" to which everyone agreed.

The quartet found an empty cubicle a couple of seats away from the bar and settled in. The girls started to chat amiably which the guys took as a chance to get some drinks.

"Two Bloody Mary's, one Long Island Beach Tea and a Sapphire Tonic for me," Lance said to the nearest available barman who immediately set to work. Turning to Ken, the redhead grinned, "You'll never guess who's coming," he exclaimed.

Ken smiled, leaning back against the island counter. "Really? Why don't you let me try…"

"Okay, guess." Lance crossed his arms, grinning.

"The winner of the City Pageant, Sasha Levinne," Ken started, counting off the famous personalities from the top of his head. "The topman of the Editor's Guild, Arnold Chopper… Shane Doniel the movie critic…"

"Think bigger, Ken, come on…"

"Elmo Fitzcrane?"

"Who's that?"

"Heir to the Crossfitz Company – you know, the one that gave a billion dollars to charity last year…"

"Dude, I'm talking about The Séance!"

Ken almost slipped off his stance at the other man's revelation. "He – Wha – _Why?_"

"Why shouldn't he?" Lance said as the barman put down their orders in front of him. "He saved the god damn city! He's like a VIP everywhere!"

"Oh. Okay…" The way Ken's shoulder's sagged gave a defeated air. He really had no chance of escape…

"What's with that look, man?" his fellow journalist asked, concerned.

"Nothing. Oh hey, our orders are done," Ken instantly changed topic. "Let's take these back to the girls…"

All night Ken was paranoid. He knew he should be enjoying the party but he found that task to be rather difficult when he stiffened at the every black-clothed person in sight.

A couple of minutes past ten, Ken finally found the celebrant. Victor engulfed the Asian in a gigantic bear hug, introducing the boy to his wife and son. The dirty blonde hair ran in the family, Ken noted as he shook hands with Mrs. Revelton and her son, Rayver. The young man seemed friendly, even offering to get him a drink but Ken declined politely; he had a feeling that he needed to stay sober tonight. Only a few seconds later did the journalist realize that he _maybe should have_ taken up Rayver's offer – a large hand clamped over his left shoulder, soon followed by a voice that he only knew too well.

"There you are," the auburn-haired medium greeted. Ken tried to keep his blush down, keeping in mind that Klaus probably wasn't even looking at him.

"Séance, my man!" Victor enthusiastically embraced the psychic whose hand remained on Ken's shoulder. "Good to see you!"

"Better late than whatever," Klaus said, half-smiling as they let go.

"Well get yourself a drink, why don't cha?" Victor beamed, one hand motioning towards the well-lit bar. "Free flowing."

"Good idea," Klaus agreed, hand tightening on Ken. "You wouldn't mind me taking your little writer he, would you?"

"Oh you're acquainted?" the news editor looked between the two men with a pleased expression.

"Yeah, somewhat…" Ken smiled, trying not to make it look too forced as the Séance began dragging him away. "Happy birthday again, Vic!" He pursed his lips the moment Victor turned away, jet black eyes shyly looking up at the medium. Klaus was wearing his shades, clothed in black from head to foot (trench coat, shit, pants and all); his black-painted lips were set in a thin line as they neared the bar.

"Gimme your best rum," Klaus said, the moment he reached the bar, turning towards the dark-haired journalist. "And for you?"

"I'm good, thanks," Ken replied, not exactly meeting the older man's eyes.

"Make that two," Klaus told the barman.

An itch has crept up Ken's spine, jet black eyes staring at the black-tipped fingers tapping impatiently on the counter. A techno beat was playing but all he could hear was the minute taps of each fingernail on the polished tabletop. Unable to take the pressure, Ken sighed and finally asked, "Klaus..? Can we talk?"

The Séance didn't immediately reply, putting Ken in much discomfort. Only when the barman placed his order in front of him did he speak.

"Alright then, lead the way."

The bright lights and cheerful crowd were lost on the pair as Ken paved a path towards the cubicle he'd shared with his officemates earlier; it was currently vacated since they've ventured out onto the dance floor. Ken slipped into the half-circle lounge seat, he was followed by two glasses of rum which were levitated onto the table by the man that followed him in. Klaus finally took off his dark glasses, the cue for Ken to start.

Jet black eyes guiltily looked up at the brown pair on this left – Klaus didn't look too happy. Swallowing hard, Ken shifted in his seat so that his body was turned towards his companion. He noticed the weary look in the other's eyes, the shallow breaths he took and the minute twitches on the corner of those black-painted lips. Concern immediately took the forefront and Ken began with a question.

"How much did you take?"

Predictably, Klaus lifted a brow. "Does it matter?"

"Yes it _does_," Ken implored, wringing his hands on his lap. "I thought… I thought you were getting better…"

Klaus frowned, this ain't the kind of party he thought he'd be having. "I don't get you," he said, taking a drink from his glass. "Shouldn't you be happy to see me here?"

"I _want_ to be, but I _can't_, Klaus," Ken hated where this discussion was heading. "You expect me to enjoy this party when I'm worried sick about you?"

"Me?" Klaus smile was forced, the cheer in his tone light-years away from reaching his eyes. "_What_ is there to worry about _me_? It's not like I fucking get hurt–"

"Yes you do!" Ken froze, he didn't mean to shout – he didn't mean to cut-off his 'ex-brother's statement. The journalist's voice was comparatively smaller when he continued, head bowed, eyes glued to his lap. "You're always hurt… that's why you're taking drugs… to not feel the hurt…"

Ken trailed off and for a while, the party music washed over their mutual silence.

"Are you crying?" the Séance found himself asking, unable to comprehend this strange choking feeling surrounding his chest.

"N-No," came Ken's defiant reply. "It's just – God, I_ hate_ this…" his hands finally separated, only to ball into fists. "I hate lecturing you because I've _never_ had the authority to do that and you don't even _listen_… you _never did_… And I've known those things for years but look at me! Still being an idiot and hurting for you because you fucking _can't_ feel shit!" A warm drop of liquid fell onto one fist and Ken hastily lifted that hand to wipe at his eyes. "But I just can't stop because God knows _someone _has to… you fucking _need_ someone to be there for you and I just can't allow _anyone _to take that fucking spot because it's the one damn thing that has kept me from going crazy…"

Jet black eyes widened as his ranting reached its end, his breath was heavy and his cheeks were bright red, stained with tears. He'd pretty much spilled everything. "Shit," he swore, about to make a run for it when hands settled on his shoulders and kept him in place.

"K-Klaus…?" one cold hand pushed away the bangs that stuck to his face, consequently wiping away his tears and tilting up his chin.

"Man you're a slobby crier," the medium commented, grinning widely as he scooted on closer to the younger man, staring into the deep dark eyes.

Klaus' hands settled on each side of his face, the deafening roar of blood in his ears didn't help the fact that there was barely two inches of breathing space between them. "Don't do this, Klaus…" he whispered, practically begged. "_Please_… you really shouldn't…"

There was a manic glint in the Séance's eyes that made Ken's insides squirm – he was caught, he knew it but there was still one thing nagging his conscience.

"Klaus," he shivered as his lips brushed the movement. His eyes were shut, barely breathing out his final defense. "I'm your son… When you went back to Viet–" Black-painted lips covered his own, a quick peck that rendered him speechless.

"I _know_ Ben," Klaus smirked, regaining eye contact with suddenly wide black irises. "Now shut up I fucking missed you."


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: **The Umbrella Academy and all its characters used in this fanfiction are copyright of Gerard Way, Dark Horse Comics, etc. I am not making any profit out of this.

**Summary: **Nobody wants a sob-story; especially not gods that look like cowboys.

**Pairing: **Klaus/Ben

**A/N: **It's been fun y'all…

**XxXxXxXxX**

**Chapter Nine : And stay off the drugs**

**XxXxXxXxX**

Klaus' skin was unbelievably cool under his hands, spindly fingers trembling as they explored long-lost-territory but his grip was possessive. His pulse was racing as their breaths mingled and the kiss turned fierce – Klaus' hands had traveled to his waist and were worming their way into his shirt. A groan escaped him at the intrusion; his arms were draped around the older man's shoulders, one hand tangled in with the auburn locks of hair.

Klaus smirked, pulling the journalist flush against him, black-tipped fingers mapping the lean body. One hand settled atop the man's racing heart, palm resting flat against the heaving chest. Their movements slowed and the psychic pulled back an inch, black-lined eyes fluttering open to find Ken dazedly staring back at him. "…Ben?"

"I'm so, so sorry, Klaus," jet-black eyes were suddenly filled with tears as Ken leaned up, giving him a quick kiss. "I didn't want to tell you – I didn't know _how_ to tell you… When you died that time, I felt it and I was so scared when that cowboy, I mean God, didn't bring you with him. And then he said that I wasn't finished with business down here yet so he sent me back and I was reborn as your son when you traveled back in time and all I've ever wanted was to come back here so I could do what I wasn't able to when I was Ben but I _couldn't_ because I was just two-years-old _thinking_ about that! So I had to grow up and go through puberty and college – it just took _so long_ that when I got here, _Ben_ had died and you checked yourself into Shinyview and I couldn't do anything but wait! And then Dad kicked the bucket and you guys all returned to the Academy and you saved the world again which made you some instant celebrity and it was so much harder for me to get closer to you… But then I met you at the bar a few days ago and I knew that it was my chance and I didn't want to let go – I couldn't screw up this time because that cowboy said you were getting worse and I wanted to do a better job of getting you off the drugs because last time I failed… last time I couldn't… last time I died and I left you and I couldn't be there when you were at your worst but now I'm here and you're here and… oh Klaus, please listen to me this time…"

A Ken struggled to catch his breath, the palm over his heart slid down and wrapped around his waist. Feeling weak, the dark-haired man melted into the embrace, resting his forehead on his arm against the Séance's shoulder.

"You know something, Ben?" Klaus murmured against his ear, leaning lightly against the dark mop of hair.

"What?" Ken asked in a small voice, hands locked tighter around the medium's shoulder.

"That was a total mood killer."

Ken would've groaned in frustration but a bigger part of him rather agreed. "Sorry…"

**XxXxXxXxX**

Klaus jolted away at the sound of the alarm clock, it was a quarter to six and Ken – _Ben _– was curled up beside him. The auburn-haired psychic hit the snooze button and carefully slid out of the warm bed, cold artificial air greeting his bare skin. Ben snuggled closer to the empty space, burrowing into the pillow that held Klaus' scent. The Séance smiled, levitating his pants and undershirt towards himself. The room was dimly lit, nothing but the moonlight peeking from the curtains. In spite of this, the medium dressed up and slipped into the kitchen. He switched on the lights, sending white fluorescent light spilling into the adjoined bedroom.

Sitting on the edge of the table, Klaus poured water into the kettle and set it onto the stove to heat. He opened the cupboards, searching and eventually finding the pair of mugs they'd used before. Once the mugs were beside him, muddy brown eyes refocused on the sleeping man. The divider between the two areas was low, barely reaching his waist if he stood up, and he could get a good view of the dark-haired journalist stirring up under the covers. Typical Ben, waking up once he's got nothing to cuddle anymore.

The Séance turned his posture to face that waking man. The Vietnamese first moved his hand, groping around and upon finding no body, he opened his eyes and blearily looked around.

"Klaus?" Ben croaked, mind still groggy, squinted eyes peering towards the bright kitchen area.

"Kitchen, Ben," Klaus answered in a raised voice.

"Oh, okay…" and Ben fell back into the pillows, pulling the covers around his bare shoulders. There was silence for about three seconds before the younger man sat up in alarm, exclaiming, "What are you doing in the kitchen?"

Klaus merely grinned as the other man gathered blankets around himself and went around his bedroom scrounging for his clothes and putting them on modestly. Klaus had to roll his eyes at the redundancy of it all – they fucking slept together _naked_.

Ben entered the kitchen in his wrinkled shirt and jeans, one hand rubbing away the sleep in his eyes. "Since when did you start making coffee for yourself?"

Klaus only shrugged, leaning back on his hands as the journalist approached him. To his surprise, Ben didn't head for the stools, instead, the smaller man stopped between his legs, put his arms around his waist and laid his head against his chest.

Ben closes his eyes, the sound of the Séance's steady heartbeat comforted him, feeling the man's solid figure assured him that last night wasn't a hallucination. A hand settled atop his head and Ben sighed, smiling.

"This is just an excuse so you don't have to sit down, isn't it?" Klaus joked, carding through the jet-black locks.

"Mm, partly that," Ben grinned, looking up through his messy bangs towards Klaus.

"This is some pretty weird shit we're in right now, isn't it?" Klaus said, brushing away the dark bangs so he could see the other man's face more clearly. "First of all, I don't even know what to call you… Ken or Ben?"

"Ben is dead, Klaus," the young journalist replies, repressing the sadness in his tone, "Physically, at least. And even if my soul's the same – this is a whole new person, a whole new life that I'm in right now. I'm Cham Ken now, it's my identity… it'll be a lot less confusing if you refer to me by that name alone…"

Klaus pouted, the black color on his lips no faded. "So you want to stick to being my son?" That's okay I guess – you know I've always wanted to call my kid Junior?"

"Junior?" Ken raised a brow. "You want to name a kid, _Klaus Junior_?"

"Course I do, but then Vietnam has its own naming system and shit and your mom wanted to stick to that. So now you know why your name is Ken and not the awesome Klaus Junior!" the Séance finished with an arrogant smirk.

"Yeah, okay, whatever you say," Ken conceded, smiling lightly. "So what do you want for breakfast?"

"You're gonna cook? I thought you just bought stuff?"

"That's what I do when I need to get to the office early," Ken explained, detaching himself from Klaus and standing properly. "But on Sundays I work the afternoon shift so I have plenty of time to cook breakfast for myself…"

Just then the kettle started whistling and Klaus ruffled Ken's hair once before floating over to the stove. The younger man smiled and made his way to the fridge, checking the contents.

"There's ham, pizza rolls, eggs, sausages…" Ken dug inside his refrigerator.

"What's the grocery roll call for?" Klaus asked, telepathically stirring two mugs of coffee.

"Pick your breakfast," the dark-haired man faced the psychic, one hand on his hips.

"A turkey."

"I don't have a turkey. Why do you even want to eat a turkey for breakfast?"

Klaus shrugged. "Just thought I'd ask…"

"Fine, I hope you like omelets."

Ken proceeded to pull out a tray of eggs, a pack of sliced ham and the cheese. He placed the items on the kitchen counter before squatting down to the lower cabinets to get his cooking paraphernalia.

"I could totally slice faster with telekinesis, you know," Klaus offered, hovering towards Ken with a coffee mug on each hand.

Ken merely smiled, putting down the knife as he accepted the drink. "That's okay, I can handle things… Grandma taught me a lot on cooking…"

"Cham Soccho?" Klaus asked with raised brows, setting his feet on the tiled ground and leaning back against the counter.

"Mmhm," Ken carefully sipped the scalding drink. "Oh and before I forget…" He threw a punch at Klaus' shoulder.

"What was that for?" the auburn-haired psychic asked, gripping his mug tight.

"For leaving your son to grow up in a strip club."

Klaus stared at him for a second before bursting out laughing. He had to put down his black mug in order to avoid spilling his drink as his laughter was far from subsiding.

Ken resorted to grinning and sipping his coffee, patiently waiting for Klaus to stop.

"Since when did you start cracking jokes?" Klaus queried, still chuckling.

A meek smile rose to the journalist's lips. "Just thought I'd lighten up the mood…"

Klaus' laughter died down, "Is there something wrong?"

Ken left his mug at the counter, standing in front of the older man, seeing eye to eye. "_You_ tell _me_, Klaus… Give me a little more credit here, I _know _you and I trust my gut when it tells me that something is off…"

"Well sorry if I wasn't up to par with–"

"Klaus…"

Brown irises stared down at the jet black pair. And quietly, morosely, his lips parted to speak.

"You weren't supposed to come back."

It took him all of five seconds to process the older man's words and in the end, it wasn't the statement itself that made his blood run cold; it was the hurt in Klaus' own voice.

"You were supposed to be dead, Ben," Klaus muttered, "You were supposed to be resting in peace. You shouldn't be here at all…"

"But I am," Ken whispered, stepping forward, "I'm here for–"

"But I don't need you, god damn it," arms were crossed over the Séance's chest, watery brown eyes darting off to the side. "I've been doing so fucking fine without you… You already got your free pass to heaven, what were you thinking going back to this hell? I was so fucking sure you'd be safe from shit up there… so fucking sure…"

Biting his lip, Ken placed a hand over Klaus'. "Is that why you never contacted me?"

"Everyone wanted to know what really happened that day… Luther blamed himself, Diego blamed Luther, Allison bitched at me for not caring," Klaus gave a mirthless chuckle. "But you know I cared, right? I didn't want to haul you back here when you've finally escaped this shitty world… Who knows what that monster would do to you if he gets a hold of your soul?" The psychic basically spat the deceased Hargreeves' name.

Ken was quiet for a moment, absently rubbing his thumb against the back of Klaus' hand. "Thanks, I guess," he eventually mumbled, to which Klaus let out a stiff exhale.

"Well you just ruined everything by coming back…" He uncrossed his arms and placed his hands on his hips. "Are you nuts? Villains are sprouting up again and this time you're powerless. This time I'll be even more worried about you…"

"But you _don't_ have anything to worry about," Ken soothed, placing both hands on Klaus' shoulders. Putting on his bravest face, he shot the taller man a smile. "It's not like I'll be tagging along to whatever superhero business guys are doing; believe me, I've learned my lesson on that ages ago. I'm not asking you to watch over me, I don't need that from you… I've got a job and a life to live but… All I ask is that you keep yourself safe."

Klaus raised a brow at him.

"I can't help but worry about you. That's why God sent me back down…"

"That's some stupid god," Klaus frowned. "He just put you in more danger!"

"He knew it would make me happy, seeing _you_ safe – seeing _my family_ safe is what keeps me at peace…" Ken smiled sadly, "Because contrary to what they tell you, people in heaven can't watch over their loved ones from up there…"

Klaus closed his eyes, arms dropping to his sides in defeat; Ken's hand wrapped lightly around his wrist, pulling him back to the brightly lit kitchen. "You can't expect me to just ignore you…"

"I'm a liability, Klaus. I'll distract you," dark eyes shone under the artificial lighting. "I have my own place in this world and so do you but believe me when I say that I'll still be watching you." Ken offered a smile, a genuine one this time. "I _am_ a journalist you know. It's my job to keep watch on what's happening around here. I'll be seeing you around a lot, I suppose…"

"So that's it?" Klaus couldn't help the annoyance in his tone. "You show up and expect me to just _pretend_ you don't exist?"

"That's not what I meant," Ken said in earnest, "All I'm saying is that you have your priorities… Like saving the world? Ring a bell to you?"

The spirit medium huffed, "You know, for someone a decade younger than me, you're kinda bossy."

A small laugh erupted from Ken. "I'm making you breakfast, I have a right to be bossy," he replied with an easy grin.

"C'mere…"

Long arms wrapped around the younger man's waist, pulling him close. Ken buried his face at the crook of Klaus' neck, arms encircling the man's midsection.

_This world, my dear, is big enough without you…_

**XxXxXxXxX**

**END**

**XxXxXxXxX**


End file.
